“You wanna make some extra money?” Honoree asked.
“I like extra money. How much and what for?”
“Cover for me tonight at the midnight show.”
“How much?”
“Five dollars.” It was more than either girl made in a week, but Trudy’s lazy eye didn’t even twitch. Greedy wench. Honoree would have to sweeten the deal. “Five dollars tonight, and another five on Sunday.”
“Sunday’s a long ways off.”
“Take it or leave it,” Honoree said, betting on Trudy’s greed.
“What do you have to do so important you have to skip the midnight show?”
“None of your beeswax,” Honoree snapped. “You gonna do it or not?”
Trudy’s eyes sparkled. “Patience. I’ll let you know after we finish this show.”
* * *
The band played Jelly Roll Morton’s “Black Bottom Stomp.” A lively tune that always got the joint jumping.
The hoofers and the roughnecks swarmed the stage. The tables and chairs filled, and a standing-room-only mob gathered, screeching for the show to begin.
The chorus girls shimmied into place and formed a straight line. King Johnny’s trumpet blared. The girls linked arms, kicked their legs waist-high, and launched into the dance routine.
Between the music, the giggle juice, and the scantily dressed flappers, the whole whangdoodle stomped and cheered. They were shaking their behinds, losing their minds, everyone having a good ol’ time.
Honoree watched from the sidelines, waiting for her cue, but a nagging nostalgia played with her heartstrings.
Besides Crazy Pete, there were some other things to miss about Miss Hattie’s. The all-nighters with King Johnny and his jazz quartet. The Monday predawn jam sessions with the band. The after-hour parties with the chorus girls and blues singers. And dancing with Pete at the Dusty Bottom. Though he did more hobbling than dancing.
The things she wouldn’t miss were easy—Dewey’s ugly temper. Miss Dolly’s mean ways. Everything about Archie.
After finding her in the trunk of his car, Archie had hired Honoree to stoke the furnace and peel potatoes, but Honoree was a quick learner. A flash of a smile, a suggestive wiggle, and soon, Archie was paying for her dance lessons, her rent, and the fabric and tassels she used to sew her fancy dresses and, eventually, her costumes. When the giggles and wiggles stopped working their hoodoo, Honoree allowed Archie the privilege of putting his hands on her. She just hadn’t expected necking with him to be so unpleasant.
The music changed and jarred Honoree back to Miss Hattie’s. Her two solos were coming up, fast and breezy. The first routine was mostly cartwheels, leg kicks, and back and front walkovers. She sang one song but primarily danced, ending with a tap sequence before prancing off the stage to loud applause.
Edna Mae performed her burlesque act next—naked. She had the bubs for it, too. Small, full, and high, they barely moved when she jumped. She then sashayed back and forth across the stage, the crowd watching with mouths open and eyes bulging while trying not to grab things they shouldn’t grab. After she finished, the band played a few more tunes, and the hoofers danced, and Miss Dolly sang a medley of blues songs.
Honoree stood behind the partition, the muscles in her legs and arms knotted, the joints in her fingers locked. She shook her wrists and stomped her feet to keep the blood flowing. She put on the feather headdress, hooked the chin strap, and waited.
King Johnny’s trumpet soared to a high C, and she rushed onto the stage, making a deliberate mess of the steps. She winked an exaggerated eye, a wide grin on her face, inviting the patrons to join in on her antics. She crossed her hands back and forth and from knee to knee, imitating Josephine Baker’s Charleston and the crowd bellowed.
Her head and headdress held high, she waved her arms and rotated her hips, performing a cakewalk jig strutting to the rhythm of the banjo.
The audience clapped and yelled and begged for more. Honoree joyfully obliged. She propelled her body into a series of pirouettes, using the wall clock over the cafe’s front door to anchor each turn. Her eyes fixed on the clock, she whipped her head, and her body followed as she turned and turned, but in her last twirl, someone stood above the crowd and caught her eye.
A cattail in a field of withering weeds, taller than any other man in the cafe, he took off his fedora. And for the longest beat of a drum, she saw his face.
Her heartbeat fell off rhythm, and her legs crisscrossed. She missed a spin and almost fell but found her balance and twirled into another pirouette, ending in a deep bow.
The applause and the shouts of praise were cannon fire in her ears. She snapped upright and, rising onto her tiptoes, canvassed the room. Where was he? Where’d he go? She searched, quickly and thoroughly, but couldn’t find him.
One last bow, one last wide smile, and Honoree fled from the stage.
She paused behind the makeshift wings separating the dancers from the patrons. Her back pressed against the hard surface, she stared at the ceiling, struggling to catch her breath.
